


Memories

by MagnoliasInBloom



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, If it's not your thing don't read, More angst, No hard feelings, Super angsty, check out my other works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29980095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnoliasInBloom/pseuds/MagnoliasInBloom
Summary: He was the life she didn’t have and the love she couldn’t feel anymore. What does she have left except memories?
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 158
Kudos: 107





	1. Silence

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is very different from what I usually write. This is an angsty ride, OOC, no real HEA. If it’s not your thing, read no further and no hard feelings.

I sat at the kitchen table, my head in my hands. I couldn’t help the tears that fell fast on the surface, gathering like pathetic oceans. A cup of coffee waited patiently, listening, and that cup was to blame.

With no warning at all, an avalanche of memories had crashed on my head, arriving uninvited, slithering into my mind; I hadn’t been able to shut them out this time. The cup of coffee waited patiently in front of me, with only my tears to keep it company that morning.

It had been ten years, and I thought I’d forgotten everything, but the heart never forgets. Not really. It only gets used to absence. I could still remember what he said that day, and I cried even harder.

_“Ye ken, I’m tryin’ to quit smoking, Sassenach,” he says, tapping ashes onto the ground. The Scots burr of his voice wraps itself warmly around me._

_“It_ is _a terrible vice,” I reply, threading my fingers through his unkempt hair._

_“No more than coffee,” he says, smiling and holding me, so close._

_“That’s not true.” I press my lips to his. “I can give up coffee any time I want, Jamie.”_

It was him I couldn’t give up. It made me wonder, if each night was worth it. The uncertainty of not knowing if he’d be back. I had thought about losing him and my heart pounded as if I were dying, and my head would spin and my mind tumbled into an abyss. Watching him sleep, I would trace his features with the tip of a finger and think: _I don’t know what I’ll do when you don’t come back to me, when you tell me you’ve fallen in love with someone else, that his cannot go on… and it’ll hurt so much, knowing I wasn’t enough to keep you. That I couldn’t make you mine._

I traced the coffee cup, trying to pretend that his lips had touched the rim, that he was still real. Pretending that he had heard me when I had whispered in his ear as he had slept beside me.

_I don’t want your touch today if you can’t promise I’ll have it tomorrow. You’re the air around me, but I can’t breathe._

If I closed my eyes, was the world still there? I cannot forget… I could only get used to his absence.


	2. Today

I heard the buzzing of his electric razor coming from upstairs. I knew perfectly well who was in the bathroom, and I hated myself for wishing it were somebody else. A desperate scream fought to rip its way out of my throat, and I gritted my teeth, trying to kill it.

This was a lost war, and an angry grunt escaped my lips. I smashed the coffee cup on the floor. Pieces skittered under the table, under the fridge, while the steaming liquid advanced slowly on the kitchen tile. Barefoot, I walked gladly on the remains of the cup, wishing with all my soul the shards could cut deep, deep into my heart.

I remembered large hands, sapphire-blue eyes, and red, red hair that autumn itself would envy. I wished I could run outside, shoeless, to search and find him. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, that I regretted so much, and that I still could not forgive myself.

But I crept closer to the sink, ignoring the stabbing in my foot, and the bloody splotch it left in its wake. I grabbed a tea towel and prepared to clean up the mess I’d made, because there was nothing else to do.

I dabbed at the brown puddle on the tiles. Irrelevantly, I recalled the words that would tumble heedlessly from my mouth when his lips found mine. Nonsense, heartfelt nonsense.

_“When I’m with you… we can be completely silent and know there is no such thing as perfection, but when I’m with you, I’m so close, and I’m afraid.”_

I balanced on my knees, pulling my hair back with a grimy, sopping hand. I didn’t care. Because it didn’t feel at all like Jamie’s hand, pushing my hair aside to kiss my bare shoulder and that comforted me.

_“I’m yours. I was born to know you and then know myself.”_

I wiped my hands on my jeans. I slumped back, resting my back against the kitchen cabinets. I picked a small ceramic chip from the sole of my foot, not bothering to wince at the sting. I was happy just to feel anything. My mind jumped all over the place, and I was scared that it might finally fracture. Although it might have been a relief, to finally open the gates for the flood.

I stared at the soiled tea towel, noticing its dark grey color for the first time. The color brought back unwelcome flashes of dark grey sheets sliding over smooth skin.

_“Yer hands?” he whispers next to my ear, while his own trap mine, twining our fingers and pressing them into the bed._

_“Yours, too. So you can touch me all over,” I say, struggling to breathe normally. He lands kisses on my eyelids, which close involuntarily. I would much rather watch him watch me._

_“And yer eyes?” he continues, leaning back to look at me. I return his gaze, anxious and heavy-lidded._

_“All I see is you.”_

_“Claire…” his voice trails off, and he nudges my nose with his._

_I inhale his heady scent, honey and spice and him. My hands are suddenly free and I feel him dragging his fingers down my body. I fist the dark grey sheets at the sensation, my mouth trembling as he drops feathery kisses down, down, further down._

_“I’m yours, to cherish, to destroy. All of me, body and soul.”_

The dark grey sheets had been everywhere. I brought my knees to my chest, trying to hold myself together. I rocked back and forth, hating the feel of the body that no longer belonged to me.


	3. Seasons

The memories washed over me, trickling slowly until they seeped into my very bones again. It had been awhile since I allowed them such freedom. They had been trapped so long; they struggled to get at me, each recollection vying to hurt me first.

_His fingers play me deftly, as though they’ve known me forever, even though it’s our first time together. This has been a long time coming, and I drink his body like he’s water and I’m dying from thirst._

_He kisses down my thighs, sucking, nipping, licking. His mouth finds my center and I arch into him, whimpering. We’ll never say the words. But he understands, and so do I. We don’t need them. I don’t need to hear them._

_If his touch is able to redeem everything that is wrong in my life, if I can feel his breath in my ear, if I breathe him in, then everything is alright. If there is no light, but I can see him, if there are no words, but I can hear him, if there is no reason but he is with me, then everything is alright._

_I’m so close to the edge, but I want him on me, in me. I tug on his tousled hair, urging him to kiss my lips instead. He complies, his hands gripping my hips, and I do the same. Without further hesitation, he pushes into me. I stifle a cry against his shoulder. He is my first and I want him to be my last._

_He stills inside me, trembling, murmuring sweet apologies for the stinging pain. I shake my head, and press against his lower back. He understands and moves again, slowly, slowly. I come in a small burst of feeling that starts at the base of my spine and rushes to the tips of my toes; as he comes, his mouth finds mine. Words tumble like blessings, over and over. He finally rests his head against the crook of my neck, one arm splayed across my stomach. His other hand traces over my chest._

_“This is what ye do to me,” he says, listening to the frantic beating of our hearts. We go to sleep on the tangled grey sheets. There is a sweet nostalgia in the air._

_I close my eyes, and fall in love with him again._

I opened my eyes, and realized I had left the kitchen and was halfway up the stairs. The sound of water ran from the bathroom. I avoided the door and climbed to the attic. This was a bad idea, I knew, but I couldn’t help myself. Like a wound you knew could heal if you would just stop picking at it until it bled.

The box was still there, tucked into the deep recesses of the dusty crawlspace. The air was stifling, but it didn’t matter—I could barely breathe anyway. I picked my way over the clutter, and dropped to my knees as if in prayer. Prayed for protection from the demons in the box.

It was there, nestled at the very top for me to find. I pulled at the crinkled piece of paper, and his handwriting hit me like a punch. I remembered finding it inside my coat pocket one night as I left his place.

_Paint me a grey sky let it rain in my heart  
I can be the ground you walk on eternal sun and spring  
Give me days of sunshine let it burn on my skin  
I can warm like the heat speak like summer  
Sing to me like the wind let it pass me by  
I can soar like birds take you with me like the leaves of autumn  
Protect me from the cold let me rest in your arms  
I can be your ending and forget you like winter_

Those were the words I shouldn’t have wanted, the words I shouldn’t dwell on. Unbidden memories rose, fleeing the confines of the cardboard. It was filled with him, and I didn’t remember keeping the box, but I didn’t have anyone to blame.

But it was his fault I learned how to kiss. It was his fault I daydreamed, but sometimes woke up screaming. It was his fault my world turned upside down. It was his fault I sneaked out at three in the morning, just to make another memory. It was his fault I imagined his scent saturating my skin. It was his fault the sky closed over my head when I tried not to think of him. His fault, his fault, his fault.

It was his fault I loved him.


	4. Why

Hope is the last thing to die, but it should be the first thing we should kill. We should drown it in tears and let it burn in the rage that scorches the center of our hearts. And never let it rise from the ashes.

_“You promised.” Quiet words spoken in the dark._

Such a stupid promise. I made my way back to the kitchen, and caught the shine glinting off the damp floor and the ceramic bits I hadn’t managed to collect.

As much as there was light between us, there was also darkness. I couldn’t find it in me to explain away his dark moods and stony silences that sometimes claimed him. We had our bad days, oh yes.

_“Ye said it. We both did!” he shouts. “I won’t go to London without you. That was it.”_

_“Yes, I get that,” I say, borderline patient. “But—”_

_“So a little promise, it means nothing to ye?” His face flushes with indescribable anger. For a second, it makes me afraid, before I realize there is something else underlying his rage. And not knowing what it is makes me finally lose my temper too._

_“It was one trip, for fuck’s sake!” I scream back, my calm demeanor gone. “She’s my mother, what was I supposed to say?” I start walking towards him, equally angry._

_“No! Ye tell her no! That ye are keeping a promise to me!” Jamie turns his back to me and paces left and right._ A stupid promise _, I think, and I know he reads it on my face._

_“I can’t say that to her! What is she going to think?”_

_At this, he turns to me and strides forward. I stumble back and he catches me before I fall, pushing me against a wall. He places his hands next to my face, leaning closer. His breath is hot and his eyes are wild as he stares into mine._

_“Ye tell her that ye love me. That ye are keeping a promise, no matter how stupid.” His tone is now low and calm, and infinitely more dangerous. I’m not afraid of him hitting me, but I am afraid of him leaving me, so I lash out._

_“I’d rather you tell me you hate me, than have you feel nothing for me. I’d rather have you like this, halfway, than not have you at all. I’d rather you hurt me, than feel nothing at all. So why am I here? Why am we still here?” I shove my hands into his chest. He doesn’t budge, but his hands drop from the wall. Jamie doesn’t answer my question. I feel he is one beat away from walking out the door. My body reacts, and I reach out and slap him. Hard._

_The crack resounds in the stony silence that follows, and the imprint of my hand stands out against his skin. His breathing is harsh, but he doesn’t move. His blue eyes find my amber ones; I reach out again, this time to soothe the hurt I caused, but he takes my hand roughly by the wrist. He pulls up my other hand as well and pins them against the wall. His whole body presses into mine._

_“For all those coffees we haven’t drunk. All those sidewalks we haven’t covered. All those movies we haven’t seen. The mornings we haven’t been. All those times I haven’t held your hand. The ways we haven’t danced. The tears we haven’t cried.” Jamie’s voice half-snarls, half-murmurs into my hair. “The cities we haven’t visited. All those times I haven’t held you. The songs you haven’t sung. The nights we haven’t slept, the afternoons that haven’t rained. All those poems I haven’t written you. The skies we haven’t searched for, the kisses we haven’t shared. All the words I haven’t said. That’s why I’m still here.”_

I stood at the sink again; my foot ached with the shallow cut. I stared out the window, at the cheery green oak bobbing in the breeze. He knew how I loved green things. I wondered if I’d be able to get away today, but there probably wouldn’t be time.

The sounds coming from the bathroom have stopped, and I thought I heard him in the bedroom as he finished his morning routine. I hoped against hope that he’d still be awhile in there. I didn’t want him to see my face, tear-stained and lost, a face that clearly grieved for something he couldn’t possibly know.


	5. Dusk

_Sitting alone on the park bench, it’s that magical time after sunset, before night falls. Dusky light settles all around me, as I watch my hands bathe in the iridescent violet-blue. If I were surrounded by darkness, perhaps you’d be here with me._

_I light up a cigarette and smoke it slowly. I tap more ashes onto the ground than the number of drags I pull from it. I look at my watch. There’s still time—and hope._

_The sun is long gone, and the heat of the afternoon yields to a soft summer breeze. I’m reminded of how much I like summertime, those endless months of bare feet and sleepless nights. You like winter, I know. There’s something about the cutting Highland wind that claims a part of you I don’t understand._

_People are out for runs, jogs, walking dogs. I light another cigarette, and this one I smoke in full, inhaling deeply, pretending it’s your scent. The honey and citrus and spice… but to recall it hurts too much._

_The evening fades in between cigarettes and stolen glances at my watch. Everything takes on a bluish tinge, and a deeper darkness falls. People clear out of the park, and all I have is an empty pack and a seat beside me on the bench._

_Tomorrow is my wedding day. This man I’ll marry is not the one I dreamt of once, but life has taught me that dreams and hopes are meant to be tucked away in drawers, tightly shut. I won’t need them again. I cannot imagine walking down the aisle, heading for the altar, and knowing it will not be you who meets me there. That I will not spend the rest of my life with you._

_It’s been hours, and I can finally accept that you won’t be coming. I lean my head into my hands and I can only feel the tears streaming—slowly, tentatively, because I don’t really want them. I cry silently, so quietly that no one looks at me or asks why I’m dying._

_It’s getting late. I get up, searching for tissue in my pockets, but I don’t have any. I settle for wiping at my eyes with the back of my hands and I start walking. There is nothing left of this afternoon but the night and a bitter taste on my tongue, salt and nicotine. I’m only betrayed by the silver tracks of my tears drying on my cheeks. I have no choice—I must go look for you, even though I’m afraid of where I’ll find you._

_I stand in front of your place, opening the gate slowly, as though it would wake you up. Just thinking about that feels like being stabbed with a double-edged sword, sorrow and joy. My head is a confusing spiral of thoughts and words, so enormous, so painful, and so useless now that for a moment, I can’t breathe._

_I walk to the place where you rest… Everything moves inside me—heaven, earth, the very sea. Yes, the joy of feeling you near is greater than the fear of finding you here. Soon, they’ll come to tell me that I must leave, but in the meantime, there’s just you and me. Like it should have been._

_I gripped the sink, remembering that evening before my wedding; there’s yet another night before that visit to his place, the last night, that also helped destroy my hopes forever._

_The phone rings incessantly. I scramble for my bag, still laughing at her joke as I file through the contents of the purse for my mobile. I find it and press it to my ear._

_“Hey, are you on your way?”_

_“Claire.”_

_I pull the phone away and am confused. Yes, it’s Jamie’s number, but Jenny’s voice. It’s his sister. Why is she calling me?_

_“I’m… Claire, are ye alone?”_

_“No, I’m with Geillis. Why?” This is wrong. So very, very wrong._

_“Ye need to get here now.”_

_Go where? What is she talking about? I signal to Geillis to hold on as I cover my other ear, blocking out the hum of the pub and wincing at the static coming from the other end of the call._

_“Jenny, I can barely hear you. Where are you?”_

_“I’m at the Royal Infirmary. Jamie’s here.”_

_I lurch to my feet, spilling a glass of red wine across the table. Geillis rises with me, and clutches my elbow before I can fall. Fuck fuck fuck._

_“Jenny?”_

_“Claire… he… the car was wrecked…”_

_I end the call and am out the door, running for my car. Geillis catches up, pulling at me and directing me to hers. I’m in no condition to drive. My hands shake and there’s a high-pitched whine in my head. It takes a moment to realize it’s coming from me._

_We race to the hospital, hoping he’s okay. Hoping he’ll be fine. Hoping._

I’m caught between the past and the present. They seem so intertwined at times, and I can’t pull myself out of the turmoil. It happened every once in a while. But the sense of loss had never been as strong before. It felt like the first time, every time I let this happen. And every time I promised myself that it wouldn’t happen again, that I couldn’t let it. And every time, I broke my promise.

_The memory of you is my worst torment and my best comfort. I wait for you every afternoon since you’ve been gone, and I know you won’t come, but I can’t help it. The flowers I left yesterday are still here. I like purple tulips and white roses, but you preferred gerbera daisies. I remember._

_You are out of my life, but not gone from my heart. My mind says one thing, but my heart another. I can’t stand the struggle between this knowledge and the obstinacy of believing you are somehow still alive._

_I still think of you. Forgetting would be much easier if you had never touched me; if I ever needed anything more than that to remember you, it would be admitting that forgetting you is even possible. That amount of time doesn’t exist._

All I had left was the infinite sadness of knowing the difference between sleeping with someone and sleeping next to someone—and hoping you never wake up.


	6. Safe

“Good morning,” he said, entering the kitchen.

I smiled briefly, trying to keep my mouth from grimacing as he kissed me. I turned to the window again, hugging myself, arms tight against my abdomen. I turned my back on him. He approached the coffeemaker, pouring while he talked about his coming day.

For my parents’ sake, for my friends’ sake, I continued; I would not have, for my own. I would be safe—existing, though barely alive. But my mind repeatedly wandered down blue roads, filled with cigarette smoke, Scottish lilts, and other kisses so fervent in their desire they still burned on the lips.

I heard a different voice in my ear, a voice I couldn’t seem to forget.

_“Marry me, Sassenach. Let’s get married on Tuesday,” he says, taking a drag on his cigarette._

_I hold his gaze for a second—two seconds, ten, whole minutes go by, and I don’t drop my eyes from his._

I glanced at him, leaning against the counter, while he rambled on about meetings and schedules. He hadn’t changed since the day I met him, since the day he begged for a chance to change my mind, to save me. I hadn’t really believed he could repair the damage, and I was proven right, again and again. I could no longer remember what it took for me to cling to this man, to try and save what little was left of myself.

_“Why?” I ask, finally breaking the silence; my heart pounds erratically._

_Jamie stops for a moment, thinking, considering. “Because I love ye. So we can always be together. Because I’m yours, and ye’re mine.”_

“Are you listening to me?” His sharp English accent seeped into the memories of a life long since dead. He reached over and laid his hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t help it—my skin crawled and I shrank away from his touch. It wasn’t _him_ , but I could not have _him_. I relaxed my shoulders.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” I bent my head, mindlessly twisting and twirling the rings on my finger.

Should he be the one to apologize? Or should I keep apologizing for not loving him, for not being able to love, for deceiving him so well? It was a world full of deceit. An art I had perfected for ten years, from the cups of coffee in the mornings until cotton sheets enveloped us at night.

Lies. And memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming on this angsty ride with me. I appreciate all the kudos and comments. <3 <3 <3


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